


Blue

by Pinkmink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 11 - and post all of the mess that arose in the finale.</p>
<p>After they've saved Sam and returned to their new normal, everyone is healthy and safe. But there is an endless drive in Dean he can't seem to ignore - until he discovers that there is one person who can mute the constant motion.  </p>
<p>"And he kissed the creature - the creature full of universe and celestial power and God’s own wrath contrasted by a quiet love of bees and books and pointless television. Castiel was everything pure and rebellious in equal parts, a dichotomy of heaven and earth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> After my last fic, I had a near impusive need to write something purely cerebral between these two. I found the start of this story with Regina Spektor's "Blue Lips", but the final push came from "Satisfied" from Hamilton. Both are excellent, and you should listen! Hopefully this story comes off more soulful than pretentious, but at least it's done :)
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing rosie_berber

_ He stumbled into faith and thought _

_ God this is all there is _

_ The pictures in his mind arose _

_ And began to breathe _

_ And all the gods in all the worlds _

_ Began colliding on a backdrop of blue _

_ Blue lips _

_ Blue veins _

_ Blue - the most human color _   
  


There was a sound inside of Dean that never silenced. Like a dull siren, bellowing in the background of every thought, every action, every moment. It was a motivating sound; a pulsing, bleating noise that would grow ever louder if he stayed motionless for too long. It being so consistently present in his life he’d grown accustomed and simply resigned control, restlessly pursuing the next case, the next lover, the next meal. Driving his actions like a man possessed. 

 

Yet there was a brief moment in Dean’s life when the stillness and silence coexisted. It was in an embrace that lingered too long, the tension and the chaos falling to their feet in striking, blissful quiet. Strong arms pulled him impossibly close as if to absorb him, or maybe just this noise he could somehow perceive as well, rocking gently together on hallowed ground. And when Dean pulled away his entire world was shades of blue. Crisp, outstanding blue, crinkled in worry and love and despair. He left his heart in that silent blue, understanding finally how that was its home all along and knowing undeniably its safe haven there.

 

It was to that color he fled now to take refuge as calm returned to their lives, bringing comfort to all others and torture to Dean. The pounding began and he shut his eyes to it, letting his fingers dig into the soft skin of his temples, nails drawing a pain that could briefly redirect the sound. His feet felt heavy as they moved across cold concrete, routed to the small, barren destination of an angel’s bedroom. There was no shame in his steps, but rather, a resolution in his pace. 

 

The first knock found the handle turning and glancing upward he was surrounded again in that comforting blue. Castiel’s head turned, curious and concerned at the look he saw behind Dean’s eyes and moved slightly to allow the man to enter. Dean let himself sit on a soft mattress, turning from the distressed gaze with sudden worry that maybe he’d expressed too much haste in his coming here.

 

But as he stilled, the sound grew louder. 

 

There was an unspoken bond of deep conviction that pulled the angel to his side, wordlessly wrapping a thinly clothed arm around Dean’s flanneled shoulders. The bunker was cold but his vessel was not, and there was a conscious movement to line his hand with the mark that still lit with the coals of their essences intertwined. The touch dulled the noise steadily, replacing the reverberation with their even breaths.

 

“Is this ok?” a graveled voice asked, and he could hear the vibration of the words through his skin. He let his head nod an accord because yes, finally he was so drained of everything vicious and poisonous he could see with clarity this need. A requirement for his soul that demanded to be soothed by a being so powerful, so ancient it defied reasoning. So enormous was the angel beside him and yet so human, contained in lean flesh, dark, wild hair and endlessly blue eyes.

 

“Why can’t I just stop?” The words fell from Dean’s lips like an avalanche, too heavy to be subdued. There was a hum of understanding and a tightening around his shoulders, the fingers gripping tighter as if to keep the pieces of Dean together with sheer will.

 

“It’s who you are, Dean,” the answer came, simple and ever direct. “You’re a hunter. That’s what you’ve always known. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

 

“But things are good now,” he argued, unsure if it was with himself or the creature who seemed to surround him. “Mom’s back, Sammy’s fine. Hell is pretty damn quiet. Everyone is alive, healthy. Everything is so, so good…”

 

He wasn’t surprised as his voice cracked or as his vision blurred - he’d known these thoughts ran deep and dark. He’d always lacked the ability to properly phrase the shame bubbling under the surface of his words. And now he’d never been quite so exposed to anyone as he was to this angel; it took nearly all of his will to fight the muscles in his legs, twitching to flee. 

 

A slender finger tucked under his chin and he followed the path it directed, looking up into the blue again. Gravity pulled the tears down his stubbled cheeks. With a blink he refocused, finding the blue was also swimming, and oh no, because he couldn’t stand to see that. Not for him. Not for anything.

 

“What can I do?” Castiel’s chapped lips formed the sentence with a small intake of breath. Dean’s hand moved on its own to wipe the damp corner of blue, where the age of his vessel had begun to show. It warmed him to think of their years together, growing, changing, laughing, leading to this moment where someone who’d been alive for hundreds of years was crying over Dean’s inability to be satisfied with banality - the simplest cadence of normal, everyday life. 

 

“I just - I need you, Cas. You make it better, somehow.” Finally, an honest answer. One that lightened his heart as he spoke, and brightened the blue as it was heard. Dean’s fingers followed a damp path to lips, brushing the wide corner of a small smile.

 

“You have me,” came the bare response, spoken low. The words rose a blush to the angel’s cheeks as he somehow managed to look debauched and predatory simultaneously. A hunger rose in Dean, as his fingers danced across stubble, down the muscles of a strong neck, along the soft dips of a collar bone. An invitation, perhaps made before but never so clear as it was now, silver plattered like everything that Castiel has ever offered Dean. 

 

And he kissed the creature - the creature full of universe and celestial power and God’s own wrath contrasted by a quiet love of bees and books and pointless television. Castiel was everything pure and rebellious in equal parts, a dichotomy of heaven and earth. He dove into those lips, hot breath moist against his cheek, his face framed by slender fingers. The angel’s movements were tender and reverenced, each touch trying to sell Dean on his value that he himself was unwilling to purchase.

 

But he let himself be overtaken and swept away regardless, pressed against the mattress, clothing tossed aside for the preference of supple flesh. He could feel Castiel everywhere - stretched tightly across his skin, lips tucked under his jaw, the weight of him warm and solid. There was a loss of control, willingly given, as the angel worshipped him in a decadently sinful manner.

 

Still, he hesitated. It wasn’t their actions that left him unsteady but instead his self-prescribed unworthiness of it that begged him to depart. His deep seated faith that somehow, someway, eventually he’d sully this. This beautiful, pure act of love given elatedly from someone who was born from its own origin. He looked down to where Castiel was trailing kisses with soft murmurs, and blue looked up, seeing straight through Dean even in the heat of the moment.

 

“I want this, Dean. Relax.”

 

A warm mouth engulfed him and the overwhelming sense lit his nerves, branching across his body like electricity. His hands clenched broad shoulders in an effort to anchor but his body was set adrift on the feeling, thrusting and moaning and  _ more _ .  _ More, Cas. Please. _

 

The angel paused his actions as Dean realized he’d let those words cross his lips, hungry and wrecked. It was too overwhelming to be praised singularly - he wanted,  _ needed _ Castiel to become undone with him. Beckoning upward with strong hands he deftly flipped them onto Castiel’s back, rolling his hips deliciously and with his lips swallowed the moan that escaped. Over and over again he pressed, indulgently giving over to instinct, breathing heavily above Castiel and watching him writhe. He was completely, utterly bare to Dean- his hairline dark with sweat, eyes tightly drawn, head thrown back, and it was perfect.  

 

“God, I need you.” Dean's confession was a whisper, and accompanied with an even harder thrust, Castiel’s hands gripping him low for leverage. His words were met with blue again, locking him in a gaze so all consuming he forgot his own name. Nearly forgot what he was doing. Became so enraptured that he slowed so slightly and the angel growled, turning them again and pinning Dean underneath him. He controlled the movement now and the pace increased exponentially - Dean became a willing passenger on the most intense ride he’s ever known.

 

“I will never - ever - leave you.” Castiel’s words hit him solidly, each word punctuated by a thrust as if to carve the words into his broken soul. Dean fell over the edge with the reassurance, crying his name into the hollow of his shoulder, tasting salt from sweat and his own tears. He felt Cas seize and moan low, following Dean into the haze of ecstasy. Together they trembled to a halt, clinging desperately to the other, Castiel murmuring repeatedly so softly Dean thought he heard “...love you…” amongst the tangle of words. 

 

Castiel departed briefly, rolling over to tenderly clean from them both the evidence the event. As before he wordlessly gathered Dean into his arms, drawing him close. It had the echo of the strength of his grasp in the graveyard, as he’d tried to engulf Dean’s body. The room was practically steaming, and the angel gently blew cold air across Dean’s forehead while he recuperated, letting his mind remain blissfully blank.

 

Sweat trickled its way down his neck, a solitary drop starting from his nape and cascading down pink, flushed flesh. It was in that tickle an awareness sprang to him - the only sound he could hear now was of the angel’s heartbeat, returning to a steady pace, under his heavy head. It sang to him, soothed him, spoke to him in a language that only he understood. This ancient heart had been surrendered to Dean, and in return it would ease, and sometimes temporarily silence the sound of ceaseless motion. This was his reward for a lifetime of service.

 

In his relief of finally discovering a balm to his compulsion, someone who made the pause of chaos okay, his lips sighed a quiet, “I love you, Cas.”

 

An intake of breath moved his head, and he affixed again with the serene blue. With a smile smile, lips parted and the angel quietly agreed, “I love you too.” 

 

They would navigate the mundane of human existence, moment by moment, breath by breath, always together. And they would be satisfied.  

 


End file.
